Welcome To Storybrooke
by saviouremma
Summary: Not everything is as easy as it seems in the small town of Maine, called Storybrooke... Canon divergence. CS. Rated M just to be safe.


_Hello everyone._

 _So out of boredom at work (train stations suck!) I decided to write something. I don't know how long it'll be or, to be honest, if I even manage to finish it. I'm working really long hours (16-17h every two days and 12h the whole weekend) and – in advance – if I don't update regularly, it means I'm really tired and for that I'm sorry. That means, also, there could be mistakes since everything I write is on my phone, then it's edited by myself on my laptop. And, also, I haven't written in ages_

 _Let me know what you think._

 _PS. Killian will visit this story in the next chapter ;)_

 _I do not own anything._

* * *

Soft heart makes a hard butt, they say.

Well, that's what Emma Swan had been hearing when she was a shy, narrow-minded young girl with a lot of warmth and goodness in her heart. (She'd yelp over a little birdie not having one paw or, in worst cases, she'd mourn for a whole week over a dead cat she had seen on a trip back to the foster care (during her first ten years of living she visited seven foster families and lived in three orphanages — all over the state. Sometimes, she would cry about other people's happiness even, if seen). Nevertheless, Emma's kind of personality was something people were looking for in others, but for her, it was something she ran away from as fast as she could.

Maybe the fact that every person in her life had left her alone made Emma comprehend she wasn't worthy of being noticed and loved by the people around her. To begin with, she never had a real family. Never had anyone to call _Mom, Dad_. No one walked her up to the entrance door as she wore the prettiest dress for the prom night she could afford (Money? Emma has been always capable of doing things on her own. When she was in high school, she got a part-time job six months before graduating school, earned some cash and went shopping for hours); no one took pictures of her when taking her first steps, growing up, slowly becoming a woman.

It's like she never truly existed for any person than herself. Of course, she had few one-night "dates" (for God's sake, she was still a woman needing release from time to time) and some work colleagues but during long, dark nights, Emma always wondered if that was something she really wanted to have in life.

As it turned out, after turning twenty-four, it wasn't enough.

Emma had been in one serious relationship when she was a young person. Maybe the word _serious_ is too strong to use in this particular case, but back then, it was something Emma considered to be _forever_.

Let's start from the beginning.

* * *

How it began?

Portland, Oregon. Two thousand and one.

Emma always wanted to have a car. Her own, of course. She saw few of her classmates having one and since going back and forth to school by bus wasn't something Emma deeply loved (people smelled badly. Like, really. Especially in the summer...), she started checking adverts to know the exact amount of money she'd have to earn.

And she found it. By the side of the road leading to the abandoned factory, left there like a toy in the mist (still locked, though).

It was called VW Beetle 1969. A fine car, looking very good for its age. And it was yellow, one of Emma's favorite colors. Not to mention it was easy to break into... And considering the fact she had sticky fingers since being a child, it wasn't something Emma wouldn't be capable of doing.

It took her three long nights to gather herself up to break into the car. She didn't know it was already stolen by a man called Neal, who was living in it.

* * *

At twenty-five she tried to settle down with this man, Walsh he was called. They got engaged half a year after meeting at Alice's homecoming (her _partner in crime_ — they always worked together on harder cases during bounty hunting even though Emma was more keen on being a lone wolf than group worker) and started dating not long after. For Emma, it felt like that was _it_. They hit it off, had chemistry, amazing sex, they were best friends. No secrets, lies, all cards laid on the table.

But shortly after Walsh put a ring on her finger, Emma understood that kind of life wasn't her destiny. Or, rather to be said, Walsh wasn't her destiny. At all.

So she went into a never-ending circle of one night stands, clubs, getting wasted and working her ass off to afford all of the things she already had and was going to own. For the whole week she'd take every case and do her best to solve it as soon as possible, just to take over another one right after (from Monday to Friday, it was a tiresome routine. On Saturdays, Emma made herself into a goddess and went out. On Sundays, she woke up next to some random guy she met at the bar, or if lucky enough, in the elegant club).

One time, it was Christmas Day when she got a call from work. Of course, every normal and rational person wouldn't agree on such a day, but Emma didn't celebrate Christmas at all. She did her job and came back home, dressed comfortably, poured herself a glass (or two... three?) of red wine and spent the rest of the evening watching sitcoms, analyzing the past day and after all, fell asleep on the couch.

Time has been passing fast and for Emma, every day equaled new small, unnoticeable for others, wrinkle on her face (was that a grey hair on the back of her head? Or maybe she used too much of a dry shampoo she bought the day before?). Standing regularly before the mirror to check herself up would be bizarre for an outsider, but for Emma it was something normal to do.

She came to the conclusion that no one really cares what she's doing at home.

— Damn it, I am still young, — she reminds herself one night, sitting at the bar and having another shot of vodka in front of her. — Who the fuck cares about the mimic wrinkles?

She does, when she's clear-headed.

 _Meet me in 45A. You know where the key is._

 _Sincerely, E.S._

* * *

— Well, do you want to fuck, or...? — he asks after few minutes of quietness after his arrival, looking at her questioningly with an unease plastered on his face when Emma does nothing but lies on the medium-sized bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

— I can't. I'm on my period, — she answers slowly, covering face with hands. A lie has no legs...

— Then why did you invite me here? I thought... well, fuck, — he curses, standing up and taking a bag from the counter in the hallway, intending to head out of the hotel room.

— Don't go, please, — Emma whispers silently, getting up and sitting on the edge of the bed. (Her legs are swinging - she's too short to put them on the floor; she has messy hair, as if she just got out of the bed after a long sleep). — I just... ten minutes. Give me ten minutes to explain everything.

— Jesus Christ… — he sighs, taking a few steps forward and leaning into her, the scent of alcohol hitting his senses, — Are you sozzled? — the man asks, looking down at the watch on his wrist. — Fuck, I need to go back to my wife. — Turning back on his feet, he adds: — stay here for the night. I'll pay the check. You're way too drunk to safely head home. — I'll text you tomorrow, beautiful.

Emma doesn't get to answer, since he disappears as soon as the words leave his mouth.

— I'm pregnant — she says to herself, — and the baby is yours…

A single tear falls down her cheek as staring at the door he just went through, barely holding herself up, due to the amount of alcohol Emma drunk in both the bar at the first floor and got from the hotel room's fridge.

* * *

She doesn't want the baby.

That was the main reason of the desire to meet her latest lover.

She didn't want to be alone when saying out loud she's going to have an abortion. (Emma already found a doctor willing to perform the procedure, not far from Boston, affordable and having good opinions). Emma hoped he'd back her up, considering he had a wife, two kids... it was just a fling after all. No strings attached.

Besides, it wasn't something new for Emma - she was with child before. But back then, she was just a seventeen years old girl, irresponsible, also by herself and in jail. What choice did she really have? None. Neal dumped her, made her take the fall for his crimes and disappeared not long after.

Emma was shattered after the guard brought her the pregnancy test and, after taking it, showed two lines.

— Congratulations, — she said. — Only few have kids in prison.

Emma cried the whole night, behind the bars.

— I can't be a mother. — And she wept again, after delivering a baby boy in the hospital next to the jail she was serving the sentence and right after giving him up for adoption (Emma wanted to give him the best chance - she wasn't ready to be a teen mother, penniless and down-and-out).

She got out two weeks later.

* * *

Today's the day.

Emma isn't truly prepared. She's frightened. She tried, for the last few days not to get emotionally involved with that little, innocent embryo, soon to be a human being, growing in her womb (maybe because she remembers how it feels to be pregnant and even though not being happy as well as she isn't now, Emma lost the fight and found out that it was hard to give her son up after all - that's why she chose not to see him after birth, deciding on the closed adoption as an alternative). Slowly, somewhere deep in her mind, the discreet voice told her to stop. To keep the baby this time.

But Emma already made a choice.

— You okay? — Alice asks, tapping Emma's shoulder to gather her attention. The blonde shrugs, turning head leftward to meet Alice's concerned look.

— Perfectly, in fact. I am impatient to get back to work, — Emma states. — Any new cases for today? I'll take anything. — She's starting to forget completely. Everything happened in a blink of an eye; Emma threw herself into work, occupied with everything else but her feelings. It's been a year since she broke up with her last lover, had an abortion and a breakdown. It's never easy, but for Emma - nothing is impossible. Also, she crossed out one night stands from her to-do-on-the-weekend list.

— Yes! He's called the Eagle. The police have been looking for him since few months.

— And he's guilty of...?

— Not paying taxes. Like, big ones. Also, he's suspected of washing dirty money… — Alice throws her hands in the air, making a circle, trying to explain the scale of the problem. Emma sighs. — Also, there's a gang involved.

— Great. And how exactly can we help?

— You're the best in looking for people! Just use your superpowers so we can get our asses to work, — Alice slaps her hip and does a little dance, making Emma laugh. She goes out of their office shortly after, leaving the blonde woman alone with her thoughts.

Emma finishes her shift four and a half hour after and heads back home by her old, yellow VW bug.

Few weeks later, it turns out that Eagle was just a young man, who ran an underground business just because he wasn't able to afford a treatment for his sick mother.

Emma gets an offer of promotion, but decides to quit the job as a bail bonds person within a month.

* * *

Three days pass in a blink of an eye and Emma faces another date she hates (it's not like she _hates_ it as in _I fucking hate it so much I can't even think or look at it_ much, but Emma simply cares less and less with each year passing).

It's October, which means...

Her birthday.

She takes a day off work and decides not to answer any calls. Today, this is _her_ day and since you don't get to celebrate your twenty eighth birthday every year, Emma buys herself a small chocolate cupcake and a pink, spiral candle. She puts the muffin into the fridge, right after getting home; prepares herself a long, hot bath and spends two hours in the bathroom, listening to the music, drinking some wine and relaxing, as never before.

Emma curls her hair, letting them fall loose on shoulders. She puts on the pink dress she bought just for special occasions and paints her short nails black.

Leaning on the table in the kitchen, she blows out the single candle, making a wish in the meantime.

 _Have a family_.

— Happy birthday, Emma Swan. Another banner year.

* * *

Emma thinks about death a lot.

Not her own, of course. She doesn't have a serious reason to end her life, even though it wasn't as easy as Emma expected it to be when growing up. Even after crying her eyes out at night, she'd stand tall, look in the mirror and tell herself she's strong enough to get through the hard times.

And she did, even though no one believed in her. Being considered as someone who's going to fail everything in her life wasn't easy to swallow, but after leaving the orphanage, Emma understood if she didn't do things on her own, no one will do them for her.

Emma thinks about death of other people. How do they manage to accept the fact they will eventually die? Do they think about it as much as she does? Do they plan everything beforehand? Some of them live their fullest; they take life as it is, not caring what happens next.

The morning after Sun peaks over the horizon, Emma finally makes a decision of moving out of Boston and heading to a small town called Storybrooke, where sheriff's deputy was needed and well, Emma sent an application for it.

It all comes down to one fact: Emma Swan isn't terrified of changes. She's scared to trust people around her and let them into her life.


End file.
